


I’ll Keep Going (Just Stay By My Side)

by livia_1291



Series: You’ll Never Walk Alone [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: And also has some magic but shh, Anko Family - Freeform, Badass Finland, DenNor, Hel - Freeform, Helheim, Hetalia, How Do I Tag, M/M, Magic, Nordic Five, Norway was an astrophysicist, Old Gods, Saving the World, SuFin, Sweden is a mechanic, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombies, all those Finnish gods, and now he’s a hunter, and researches stuff, angsty ending but I WILL FIX IT, aph denmark - Freeform, aph finland, aph iceland, aph norway - Freeform, aph sweden, broken shotguns and magic and teen angst, canon names are NOT used, denmark was an elementary school teacher, finland works in forestry, kind of, norse gods, now he has magic, those too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:09:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livia_1291/pseuds/livia_1291
Summary: When the gates of Hel split open two years ago and unleashed a curse on humanity, Icelandic officials assured the world that they would be closed within the week. Everything was under control, the catastrophe would remain localized to Iceland, and life would soon return to normal.(But things are rarely that simple.)A Norse mythology/Zombie AU featuring magic, faulty shotguns, teenage angst, and the Nordic Five!





	1. Jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus gets himself into a bit of a situation. Sindre is here to help.

“Shit, shit, _shit_.”

Magnus fumbled frantically with the faulty pump of his shotgun, gritting his teeth as he tried to force it past the crumpled shell blocking his trigger. This was the second time it had jammed up this month, and it was only the first week of February. His breath was a puff of white at his lips as he swore, tearing off a glove with his teeth and mumbling around it as he peered into the dark, dusty chamber.

“Why does this always happen at the worst possible time? I _swear_ , someone up there is out to get me...”

The frozen earth shivered beneath his feet, alive with the foetid odor of decay. Judging by the smell, and the increasing volume of the hissing and scratching, he had about thirty seconds to sort this out before he was overrun. The shotgun was a lost cause. He couldn’t drag the pump forward far enough to free the trapped shell, and trying any more would waste precious seconds. Irritated, he tossed it into the snow, and grimaced as he glanced around the clearing he had ended up in. Of course. Hardly any cover. The voice of his senior officer rang in his head, chastising and unwelcome: _Accidents never happen in convenient places, Andersen._ If he climbed a tree and waited long enough, maybe his foes would give up on him and find some other unfortunate soul to rip to shreds.

 _Or maybe their howling and wailing would just attract more_ , he thought glumly, drawing his shortsword from where it rested against his hip and turning it so that the sharp edges glinted in the cold white light of the winter sun. _Better to go down fighting. At least I’ll go to Valhalla, then._

Ever since a catastrophic volcano eruption in Iceland had split open the gates of Hel two years prior and spilled hoards of the most wicked dead across the world, Magnus’ life had become significantly more difficult. He hadn’t asked for this sort of adventure - he didn’t consider himself a particularly adventurous man to begin with. All he had ever wanted was a simple life. He had spent his days before the end of the world as an elementary school teacher in sunny Copenhagen, enjoying coffee breaks with his colleagues in the midafternoon, guiding his tiny charges to write their names in shaky letters, and pushing them on the swingsets when their little feet wouldn’t carry them high enough. Life had been sweet, until--

He was snapped free from his reverie by the familiar shuffling of long-rotted feet and hoarse cries of the animated dead to his left. Luckily,  _Helvíti_ , the long-dead bodies of the wicked residents of Hel, were not known for being silent or particularly intelligent creatures - they crashed and crunched through underbrush, announcing their presence with banshee screams and fire-alarm wailing that grated on Magnus’ ears.

A quick glance told him that he was only dealing with a small hoard. Five, maybe seven at most. Instead of a sigh of relief, there was lurch of fear through his chest. This would be a quick skirmish, he decided, and then he would turn tail and put as much distance between himself and this place as possible. It was common knowledge in the field that the Helvíti usually travelled in groups of ten or more. Little groups like this were only small because something had whittled them down - another human, perhaps, or maybe something else, something far more dangerous than the undead themselves.

“Alright you stupid zombies, let’s dance,” Magnus whispered under his breath, leveling his sword and making to charge the creatures shambling towards him over the snow. Before he could even open his mouth to scream a battle cry, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a flash of the most brilliant indigo light he had ever seen.

For a moment, Magnus was floating through an aurora of color, barely conscious of what was happening around him. Trees and Helveti and snow glowed blue-hot, the residual heat searing his skin, and then— His mind struggled to understand what happened next.

As a child, Magnus enjoyed drawing on the concrete sidewalk in front of his house with the charcoal left over from the previous night’s fire. He would shuffle through the fireplace, searching for firm pieces of blackened wood, not the soft, overburnt grey pieces that disintegrated the moment you breathed on them. He was reminded of those useless pieces of wood as the hoard of creatures went pale, burnt beyond charring, and crumbled away into fine ash.

As suddenly and unceremoniously as he had been tossed into the air, the Dane landed with a grunt, rubbing his bottom indignantly. The wind had been utterly knocked from his lungs by the impact. Spots were dancing in his vision, and he wondered if he had been hit over the head by something while in midair. “What in Hel’s unholy name just happened?” He managed once he had caught his breath, head whipping around to catch sight of the origin of this awesome display of magic.

“I think you mean to say thanks.”

There, in the margin of the ashy clearing, stood Sindre, the violet glow of magic just fading from his eyes. Smoke curled from his shoulders in little silver rivulets, and he huffed, brushing it aside impatiently. Magnus watched him kick through the drifts of ash he had created, still processing what he had seen.

“Idiot,” chided the Norwegian, “I told you to get a better gun. That thing’s older than Odin himself.”

“Thank all the gods for you,” croaked the taller blond with a sheepish smile, feeling through the carpet of grey until his fingers closed around the solid wooden stock of his gun. “This stupid thing jammed. Again. How’d you find me?”

“Felt it,” Sindre responded nonchalantly, running a hand through pale hair and shrugging, before offering the same hand to Magnus to help him up. “I was in the middle of writing up some research to send to Oslo. My monthly report is due in a week, and you know the postal service is about as reliable as your shotgun.”

“It’s not that bad-!” The Dane began to protest, closing a mouth when Sindre held up a hand. His mouth was twisted into a displeased frown, and a crease folded the moon-pale skin between his eyes. Ah. _That_ look. Magnus knew that there was absolutely no use arguing with him.

    He whistled lowly and clasped Sindre’s hand tight in his own, hauling himself to his feet. In vain, he attempted to brush the remains of the forest and the Helvíti from his pants and coat, before giving up and shaking his head reluctantly. “Okay, I get it. I’ll get a new one. Anything new?”

    “Same as always, so absolutely nothing. Still haven’t got a clue why any of this happened, never mind how to seal up the godsforsaken rift,” sighed the shorter blond, looking over his shoulder as he stepped back to the fringes of the forest, where he waited, ethereal and still as a ghost. If Magnus squinted, he thought he could see a flickering halo of violet and green surrounding Sindre’s figure like his own personal aurora.

“Coming?” Sindre asked, lyrical voice carrying over the small distance as if he was right next to Magnus. “Kristján would prefer I didn’t wander around in the Dead Zone for too long, it makes him nervous. But of course, I understand if you still have a quota to mak--”

    Magnus was shaking his head and making to protest before Sindre could even finish his sentence. The Norwegian man couldn’t hide the slightest curve of a smile as his partner jogged to catch up with him, offering to carry the useless gun himself. “That’s what I thought.”

    “You know me too well,” Magnus joked, handing over the gun and slinging his arm across Sindre’s slender shoulders. Together, they trudged back through the frozen woods, lured by the warm glow of a walled city in the distance, and the promise of safety and family. Behind them, the dead earth shivered.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sindre is Norway, Magnus is Denmark, Kristján is Iceland. 
> 
> Hello! Long time no see! I’ve been finishing up my last year of high school and preparing to move to Canada for college, so I have been crazy busy, but things are winding down and I’ve had time to write! I hope you all enjoy this little AU. Shout out to Benny for suggesting it, and Nova, Rory, and Bianca for beta’ing for me. 
> 
> That Swissaus fic I promised months ago is almost finished, so expect that soon. I’ll try to update this and All Things Bright and Beautiful more regularly! 
> 
> Your comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	2. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander meets an unexpected savior.

Alexander, for the life of him, could not seem keep quiet as he traipsed through the woods. His clothing rustled, his canteen clattered raucously against his thigh, and even the crunch of the snow beneath his boots resounded through the empty forest like a beacon. The Swede knew it was only a matter of time before someone - or something - heard him.

He was hopelessly lost. His squadron had been dispatched to take care of a large hoard of Helvíti roaming the Ångermanland province. Instead of a quick, routine mission, it had been an utterly disastrous. The horde was twice as large as what they had expected, and in a matter of an hour, twenty were dead.  Six had been bitten, and lay dying in unspeakable agony. Alexander had turned to walk back to Stockholm as the lone survivor - it wouldn’t be hard, he thought, just follow the coastline - when he had gotten caught in a winter gale that had ripped his map from his hands and left him lost in a blur of white. He had been walking for days now, with no sign of the walls of Stockholm. Provisions were running low, and he knew it was only a matter of days when he was left in the winter wilderness, now without food _and_ map.

There was a rustling behind him, just the softest movement of leaves, and he froze, whipping around and immediately groping for the short sword strapped too tightly to his waist. _There was no wind,_ he thought wildly, _no reason for the leaves to be quivering, unless…_

Before he could even finish processing that something was off, he was shoved to the snow, where he landed with a soft _thwump_ \- perhaps the quietest he had been all day. When he looked up to see the perpetrator of such a forceful shove, he instantly recoiled. The barrel of a rifle was pointed steadily between his eyes.

“Älä liiku!” Hissed a low voice, and Alexander slowly moved his gaze up the rifle to where it was being shouldered by a short man with pale blond hair and impossibly dark brown eyes. He was dressed in a fur cloak and a tunic bound around his waist, and his tall boots appeared to be lined with fleece. All of that was overshadowed by the well-oiled gun he was leveling at Alexander, who lifted his empty hands in a gesture of surrender.

“...please don’t shoot me,” he managed, and the man’s dark umber eyes widened in realization, and then went narrow a fraction of a second later. _Swedish_. Of course this noisy, unarmed man tramping through his forest was a Swede. They never seemed to understand subtlety or _boundaries._ Momentarily mollified, he lowered his weapon and huffed in irritation, his breath a soft white puff at his pale lips. It was perhaps the only soft thing about him, Alexander noticed.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my forest?” The man demanded in thickly-accented Swedish, and Alexander was too relieved to be staring somewhere other than down the barrel of a gun to protest giving his identity away to a stranger that had been fully prepared to shoot him just moments before.

“Alexander Gyllenstierna. I’m a mechanic with the Swedish reclamation effort, I…” He cleared his throat lightly, much to his new companion’s apparent displeasure. “I got separated from them. I don’t mean to intrude, I’m just trying to get back to Stockholm.”

The man snorted, unimpressed with his explanation. “Well, Alexander Gyllenstierna, you are going in the exact opposite direction of Stockholm. This is Finland. Lapland, to be specific.”

“This is what? Perhaps I misheard you.” _Finland_. That was miles northeast of where he needed to be. There was no way he had managed to walk all the way into Finland.

“Suomi. Finland,” repeated the man impatiently, and Alexander swallowed, heaving himself to his feet to pace the snow restlessly.

In his head, Alexander traced the borders his teachers had drilled in school until he could draw a map of his world from memory. Borders, Dead Zone, safety. The empty space between the Northern Finnish region of Lapland and Stockholm was all Dead Zone, crawling with the Helvíti (and sometimes worse), and the just idea of having traverse it alone and mapless made him nauseous. Sinking down onto a half-rotted log and ignoring the way it caved a little under his weight, the taller blond rested his chin in his hands and shook his head.

 _I can’t believe this_ , he thought, before pulling himself together. There was no use moping.

“I can’t make it back on my own right now, I don’t have enough provisions. Where’s the closest town?”

To his surprise, he felt the gentle pressure of a hand on his shoulder. He was met with a pair of rich brown eyes, and lips pursed into a thin, thoughtful line.

“Too far for you to go alone - you do not know these forests. I tell you this: I am on my way to Norway. I need to meet someone there. So we are going the same direction, at least for a little bit. You may travel with me on one condition: that you do not get in my way. I am not here to save your life or be your guide. I have work to do, and it just so happens that we are going the same way. So?”

Alexander was stunned speechless for a moment. Travelling with this grumpy Finn was about his only shot at getting back to Stockholm, where he could return to his quiet tinkering in his shop, and never leave the outer walls again. _Ever_.

“Deal,” Alexander decided, extending his hand to shake it. The other man’s hand was cool, even through his reindeer-skin glove. “...if we’re travelling together, I should at least know your name.”

The shorter blond hesitated, dark eyes flicking up to meet Alexander’s for a fraction of a second, before they refocused on the path in front of them. “You can call me Väinö.”

If Alexander didn’t know better, he would have said that the trees were parting before them - or really, before Väinö - as they walked. The Finn moved with fluid confidence, his footsteps nearly silent in the snow, and Alexander couldn’t help but feel oafish walking next to him. Väinö just seemed to _belong_ in the forest, whereas Alexander wondered if the massive, lichen-draped trees were trying to suffocate him.

“Who are you meeting in Norway?” He asked, keeping his voice low (Väinö had hushed him sharply when he had stepped on a twig and snapped it in two - he was quite certain that he wouldn’t take kindly to normal speaking voices.)

“Why do you need to know?” Came the equally low response, though the softness of his voice did nothing to mitigate the sharpness of his tone. The Finn did not even grace his response by looking over at Alexander. Instead, he sprang deer-like over a fallen log, pausing briefly to wait as his companion clambered over it. “It is not your business.”

There was a shrug, and he fell back into step beside him. “Just curious. It’s quite a long way to walk, not to mention dangerous.”

“I can handle myself, thank you,” Väinö responded dryly, glancing over his shoulder with an unimpressed arch of his brow. “Where I come from, we are taught unwavering independence.”

Alexander was about to retort something about at least being able to survive a week without a sauna when a glove hand covered his mouth to silence him. Väinö had gone still, swaying with the light breeze trembling like a sigh through the forest. Almond eyes were narrow, and he wrinkled his nose in displeasure before dropping his hand. “We have company.”

“Company?” Alexander asked, trying not to think about how ominous it was that Väinö was fitting a full clip into his .22 rifle. The Finn offered no comfort - only a grim nod.

“Get ready, and don’t do anything stupid,” he stated, dropping his pack and shimmying up a sturdy pine to perch in a low branch.

“What are you--” Before he could finish his sentence, Väinö had dispatched something on the edge of a clearing with a single bullet. His face was twisted with concentration as he took aim again, and when he fired his second shot, all Hel broke loose.

It took a second for Alexander to process what had happened - for a moment, it seemed as if the snow had exploded. A horde of creatures had burst from beneath the thick white blanket where they had hidden themselves, and three of them were lunging for Alexander.

Training kicked in. Without thinking, he grabbed the hilt of his shortsword and tugged it loose from its scabbard, diving forward to stab the first Helvíti straight through its crumbling, exposed skull. Viscera poured over his hand as he withdrew the blade, but he hardly felt it. Somewhere above him, he could hear the crack of Väinö’s rifle, downing the shuffling, wailing creatures clawing at the bark of the tree.

The next few minutes were a blur of metal and rotting flesh. Somewhere in the fray, Väinö had jumped down from the tree, and was fighting with his back to Alexander, barely lifting his cheek from the stock of his smoking rifle as he downed monster after monster.

Finally, it seemed that they had successfully (re)killed the horde, leaving the snow stained with blood and brass. Relieved and exhausted, Alexander closed his eyes, tilting his head back towards the sky.

“I think we’re d--”

“Behind you!” Väinö shouted, and before Alexander could react, he had jumped between him and the Helvíti snapping at his exposed throat with broken teeth. There was a wet squelching sound, and Alexander heard Väinö gasp sharply. While the Helvíti was distracted, he drove his gleaming blade directly through its crumbling temple, effectively felling it.

    The forest was quiet again, save for their heaving breathing. Alexander shoved the limp corpse of the Helvíti off of Väinö, who was clutching his upper bicep and hissing through gritted teeth.

    “So much for not saving my life,” Alexander managed, shaking with adrenaline.

    “Shut up,” Väinö panted, sinking back against a tree. His face was pale, and slick with sweat despite the cold air. “ _Perkele_.”

“Your arm, it bit your arm.” Alexander knelt beside him and gently drew the Finn’s hand away from the swath of skin he was covering. Väinö’s palm was stained with blood, and the torn fabric beneath it bloomed poppy-bright.

“This is bad,” he murmured, pressing his lips together in concern. “It looks like a characteristic site of infection. You’ll break with the infection in three days, gods Väinö, why did you do that?”

Despite the pallor in his face, Väinö gave a bark of laughter. “Infection? Surely you’re joking. I mean, you’re Swedish, but…” Upon seeing the expression on Alexander’s face, he rolled his eyes, momentarily puffing out his cheeks. “I’m _Finnish_. I follow the Finnish gods. The Helvíti are a result of your deities, not mine. I can’t _get_ infected.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Alexander muttered, and Väinö shook his head urgently.

“I’m serious. I can still get normal infections and die of blood loss, though, so hurry up. We’re sitting ducks here, and more will be on their way. You aren’t _exactly_ quiet.”

Numbly, Alexander rummaged through his pack, coming up with a roll of bandages and a little silver flask of vodka.

“Here.” The Swede extended the flask to Väinö, who unscrewed it, and gripped it tight when Alexander cleaned the deep wound with fresh snow. He took a swig, exhaling at the warming feeling blooming in his stomach. Väinö only allowed himself to relax when his companion finished doctoring him up and tied off the clean white bandage.

“Thank you. For…for the bandage,” Väinö sighed, leaning against the tree for a moment longer before reluctantly hauling himself to his feet and offering a hand to Alexander, who took it. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before sunset.”

Alexander couldn’t find it in himself to protest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Väinö is Finland, Alexander is Sweden. The names have been changed because I’m not a huge fan of the canon ones, and also to honor some very talented friends!
> 
> Our two little groups will merge in the next chapter!
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	3. Curse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our duos meet up, and everything is not as it seems.

“Väinö is officially late,” Sindre stated as he gazed out the window. The cold winter sun was just peeking over the frozen horizon, but he himself had been up for hours, pacing the cool wood floor in anxious anticipation.

  
“Probably just got sidetracked for a day or too, don’t worry,” Magnus yawned, slipping his arm around Sindre’s slender hips and pressing a steaming cup of coffee into his hand.

  
“I know.” The Norwegian shook his head, taking a long sip of the burning liquid and humming appreciatively. “I just can’t help but worry. There is a lot of Dead Zone between here and Finland.”  
Magnus gave his hips a little squeeze, and Sindre closed his eyes, pressing himself against his sturdy side. The Dane’s voice was a soft, comforting rumble in his ears. “He can handle himself. He’ll be here before you know it.”

—

“Wow. Did you offend some sort of forest god or something? I had no idea deer could do that, really, they’re usually so docile…” Väinö offered his hand to a disgruntled Alexander, who took it and dragged himself to his feet again with a huff, rubbing his bruised side with his free hand. He had no idea deer could headbutt so aggressively.

  
“‘S fine,” he sighed, picking a few stray leaves from his tangled hair. They had been walking for what felt like a month, but he knew it had only been a few weeks - Väinö had charted the time in a little notebook he carried, measuring the stars and sketching the phase of moon nightly. “It’s just my luck. Nothing ever seems to go right for me.”

  
Väinö tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing in the way they did when he was processing something. Alexander had become quite proficient in reading his expressions over the weeks they had traveled together, from the dimples in his cheeks that appeared even at the smallest of smiles, to the tight concentration that set his eyes blazing bright as the fires he built to keep them warm at night.

  
“I don’t believe in luck,” Väinö decided, and Alexander arched a quizzical brow.

  
“So what do you call us meeting, then?” he asked, peering over Väinö’s shoulder at the worn, smudged map he was scanning.

  
“Chance, I think,” the Finn mused, tracing a gloved finger over a blank expanse of paper between the Northern and Southern borders of Sweden. “We’re almost there. Hopefully they didn’t give up on me, I’ll be a few days late. I’m already late.” Väinö stopped in his tracks, gazing up to the wide, grey sky, and nodding once, decisively. He dug in his pocket for something and came up with a tiny compass, which he extended to Alexander, balanced in the flat of his palm. The little painted needle wobbled feebly, before swiveling to point North.

  
“This is where we part. Follow the treeline south, and you’ll be in Stockholm in no less than five days. Four, if you hurry. Remember to conserve your energy.”

  
“Ah. Right.” Alexander had almost forgotten that they were meant to part ways, that he was not to go to Norway with Väinö. They had fallen into such a comfortable rhythm as they traveled together, and guiltily, the Swede realized that he no longer wanted to go back to Stockholm. He stood frozen, staring blankly at the compass, before clearing his throat and making to speak.

  
“Of course,” Väinö interrupted, gaze fixed on the icy ground between them, “you could always just come with me, we could always use an extra set of hands, especially a mechanic...but don’t feel like you have to! You have a life to return to, it was a silly request, I’m--”

  
“Väinö.” Alexander cut him off gently, meeting his wide brown eyes and holding up a hand to soothe him. “I’d love to come with you. There...there’s nothing important back in Stockholm. They probably think I’m dead by now anyway.”

  
“Oh! Oh. Good. I mean, not good that they think you’re dead! Just...it’s better to travel with someone, I think.” The shorter man seemed to melt with relief, and Alexander felt something flip in his chest. “We’re only three days from the border, we’ll be there in no time. Sindre and Magnus will be grateful to have you.”

  
“And I’ll be grateful for a shower,” Alexander sighed, wiping his glasses on his filthy shirt. When Väinö laughed, the dirt and grime all seemed worth it.

—

“There. That’s him.” Sindre hopped down from his perch in a dying pine tree, shaking dead needles from his cornsilk hair. “There’s someone with him.”

“Who do you think it is?” Magnus fell into step beside his partner, shouldering the heavy pack they had brought as if it was full of feathers instead of documents and cans of food from the market. Sindre pressed his lips together thoughtfully, weaving gracefully through the Sunday crowds with the ease of a dancer.

“No idea. His letters said nothing about a significant other or work partner. I assumed it would just be him. Hurry up, we need to meet them at the gate to vouch for them.”

  
“I’m hurrying! We’re vouching for both of them? Are you sure that’s a good idea? Sindre, we don’t really know these people…”

  
The shorter blond stopped in his tracks, nearly causing Magnus to bump into him. Sindre’s expression was unimpressed, lips twisted into a frown.

  
“Of course I don’t know if it’s a good idea,” he sighed, brows furrowing in conflicted frustration, “But what are we going to do? Leave the other one out in the snow to die? I think not.”

  
There was a reluctant little sigh from Magnus, but he knew better than to argue with Sindre when he had made up his mind about something like this. He supposed the Norwegian was right - there was no way they could just leave Väinö’s companion outside the gates. That would just be cruel - there was no way he would survive. And after they had come all this way...

  
“Hello!” His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of two travel-worn people waving at them from the other side of the gate. “You’re Magnus, aren’t you? Ah, and you must be Sindre, it’s so nice to finally meet you.” The man who greeted them was short and slender, dressed in the fur cloak and tall boots traditional of the northern Finns. That must be Väinö. His much taller companion, dressed in a worn Swedish uniform, stood silently at his shoulder.

  
“That I am,” confirmed Sindre, who exchanged a few quick words with the guards. The gate swung open with a shrill squeak, and Väinö and Alexander stepped into the warm safety of the walls. Alexander couldn’t help breathe a sigh of relief, though it hitched in his chest as soon as he made eye contact with the man who called himself Sindre. Dark indigo eyes glowed with something beyond his understanding, primale and arcane, before settling into an utterly normal blue.

  
“I hope,” he whispered, “that I did not make a mistake in vouching for you.” Alexander gulped. Despite Magnus’ outwardly tough appearance, it seemed that Sindre was the one he should really fear.

  
“I won’t get in the way, don’t worry,” he promised, “I would be happy to pay rent, or to help with anything that needs fixing.”

  
“Actually,” Magnus piped up, “I have a shotgun that keeps jamming on me, if you could take a look at it?” Sindre rolled his eyes, turning to guide their little troup back through the cobbled streets. Apparently, he had decided that such a comment was not even worthy of his response.

  
“I’ll do my best,” Alexander promised, falling back a little to stay in step with Väinö, who was trailing behind to look in the gleaming glass storefronts, stuffed with candy-bright cloths and shiny trinkets.

  
“I’ve always wanted one of those knives,” he sighed wistfully, pointing out a silver blade with a handle inlaid with pieces of Icelandic obsidian. “They’re so functionally beautiful, you know? Maybe someday, when this is all over, I’ll get one.”

  
“When this is all over?” Alexander asked, lips puckering into an uncertain frown. “You never did tell me what you were doing here. In Norway, I mean.”

  
“I did tell you,” corrected Väinö, turning to start after Sindre and Magnus again, “I said I was meeting someone. I never lie.”

  
“That’s…” The Swede bit the inside of his lip. Technically, Väinö hadn’t lied. He just hadn’t told the whole truth. “Okay. So now that we’re here, and we’re not strangers, will you tell me what’s going on?”

  
“I suppose you deserve to know…come on. Let’s catch up, and we can walk and talk,” suggested Väinö with a weak smile. Dread flooded Alexander’s insides, ice cold and nauseating. Just what had he signed himself up for?

  
“Sindre was an astrophysicist,” Väinö began, choosing his words carefully. “I worked in forestry and conservation. Neither of us had magic before the rift. Sindre didn’t even acknowledge his old gods then.” He hesitated, looking up to Alexander to gauge if he was following or not. When Alexander nodded, he drew in a breath, and continued with his tale.

  
“When the rift in Iceland opened up, we both received gifts from the gods, as some sort of...consolation, we think. We’re not sure why we were chosen. Sindre is favored by Baldr. I’m favored by Mielikki. That’s why I was able to part trees, if you noticed, but I try not to ask too many favors from her…”

“Being favored isn’t all that,” Sindre added, startling Alexander from his muddled thoughts, “Baldr makes me like a beacon for the Helvíti. They seek light and warmth, and I have that in excess. But that’s not the point - through these gifts, we’ve figured out that we’ve been going about trying to fix this whole disaster entirely wrong.”

  
Magnus nodded in agreement, turning to walk backwards so he could face Alexander and Väinö. “See, we’ve been trying to fix this with science, treatin’ it like some sort of virus, seeing what we can do geologically to close that damned rift, but this isn’t scientific stuff. This is beyond science,” he explained grimly, turning back around to dig a set of ancient brass keys from his pocket. Vaguely, Alexander registered the peeling white door of a little town home on the edge of the inner city - this must be where Sindre and Magnus lived.

Completely at ease, Magnus kicked off his boots at the porch and stepped aside to let Sindre and their companions inside, whereas Alexander stood awkwardly in the threshold, stunned to silence by the overload of information he had just received. Everything they knew about the Helvíti was wrong. All of the research, all of the fighting, all of the losses, for nothing. He cleared his throat.

“So...what is it, then? If not a virus, I mean.”

  
“Valid question,” Sindre chimed in, closing the door behind himself and glancing briefly over his shoulder as if to make sure nothing sinister had followed them inside. “It’s a curse. Hel’s curse on humanity. The curse is transmitted through contact, usually a bite, and behaves a lot like a virus, but there is no actual pathogen to isolate and treat. It’s not affecting the brain. It’s affecting the soul.”

“And that’s why we’re here,” finished Väinö, setting his pack down and straightening. Despite the weeks of grime on his face and hair, he still looked ethereal, unbreakable, powerful. Brown eyes were solemn, gleaming almost black in the dim light of the atrium. “We’re here to figure out how to break the curse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have really been cranking these chapters out! I can't tell you how consistently I will post in the future, but I try to post as soon as I've edited, since I'm not a fan of waiting for chapters myself. I estimate this will be anywhere from six to eight chapters total, and if all goes well, it'll be part of a larger series.
> 
> See you all soon!
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	4. Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team prepares to leave. Magnus recalls painful memories.

“No, no, you have to pull it back farther.”

 

“I’m trying!” Frustrated, Kristján lowered his bow, the sharp stone point of his arrow scratching at the damp earth. From their perch at the edge of the makeshift practice range that Sindre had created from a strip of barren land and an old sack stuffed with dead grass and rocks, Magnus and Alexander watched, mopping a sheen of sweat from their brows. They had spent the morning sparring each other until Sindre had kicked them out so that his younger brother could practice his aim. From what Magnus could see, it wasn’t going well.

 

“Give him a break, babe!” he called, and Sindre sighed, giving him a long look before giving in and resting a comforting hand on Kristján’s shoulder. His eyes, usually so arcane and intense, were strangely light and affectionate.

 

“You don’t have to come with us, you know, if you aren’t ready. It’s going to be a dangerous mission,” Alexander heard him murmur, and the younger boy balked, huffing indignantly and crossing his arms over his chest in a gesture of stubborn irritation.

 

“I’m _coming_ ,” Kristján stated forcefully, meeting his older brother’s gaze with fire in his eyes. “I can do this. I’m not letting you have all the fun without me, Leon would never let me hear the end of it.” Sindre seemed to bristle a little at the mention of the name Leon, and Magnus couldn’t help but smile into his canteen, shaking his head at the boy’s obstinance.

 

“The apple doesn’t fall far,” he murmured into his canteen, and Alexander looked over to him, nodding slowly.

 

“They seem close,” he noted, and Magnus hummed, pressing his lips together as he turned the near-empty canteen over in his hands.

 

“They are. Sindre pretty much raised him. Their parents were researchers who went MIA in Svalbard when Sindre was nineteen and Kristján was ten. Sindre went to school and raised Kris all by himself, and then this whole mess happened, and here they are.” He shrugged, tipping the last of the water into his mouth and swallowing. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before lifting it to shade his eyes. “They deserve peace. More than this curse.”

 

“Hm.” So that was why Sindre was so no-nonsense and distant. Alexander could not help but feel a surge of compassion for the Norwegian man - all alone at nineteen, left to grieve, raise his brother, and figure out his life. _It must have been terrifying,_ he mused, _and stiflingly lonely_. “And what exactly brought you here?”

 

“Ah.” For the first time since they had met, Magnus seemed to shut down. He grimaced as if sucking on a lemon, eyes darkening a shade, and shoulders hunching just a little as if to hide himself from view.

 

“You don’t have to tell me if it’s a sensitive subject. I was just--”

 

Magnus interrupted him with a firm shake of his head. “No, no, I’ll tell you. You’re a part of the team now, you deserve to know.” He ran a hand through his messy blond hair, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself for the story he was about to spin. “I lived in Copenhagen for my whole life up until I was twenty five. I had a pretty sweet life - was never super ambitious, I just wanted to settle down and live simply. Didn’t ask for much, you know?

 

“Anyway, I taught at an elementary school. Worked with a bunch of six year-olds, they were the cutest things...my fridge back home was covered with the stuff they made for me. Drawings, paintings, macaroni...blobs...the like, you know how kids are.” He stopped, breath seeming to catch in his throat. Back on the range, Kristján had picked up his bow again, and was taking aim at the target, eyes slitted in stiff concentration.

 

“The rift opened and everyone said it would be localized to Iceland. That it wouldn’t have any affect on Denmark, or the rest of the world.” He laughed humorlessly, and Alexander felt a chill run down his spine at the haunting hollowness of the sound. “Four weeks after it opened up, the hoards crossed the Øresund and swarmed Zealand. Copenhagen got hit the hardest.” There was a shrill whistling sound, and a firm, satisfying _thwack_ as the arrow lodged itself firmly in its grass-stuffed target. Magnus took a little comfort in Kristján’s smug smirk, and in the way he glanced over to his brother as if to say _I told you I could do it._ It reminded him of better days, when he himself was the recipient of happy little I-told-you-so smiles.

 

“It happened so damned fast. Too fast. The kids were on break when the sirens rang out, and we tried…” The Dane’s voice broke, and he rested his face in his trembling hands, as if trying to draw the poison-pain of the memory out from beneath his skin. “We tried to get them in, but we couldn’t get to everyone in time. It was chaos, they were _six_ , they couldn’t fight for themselves… There was this girl, Maganhilde, she was always one of my favorites, and I wasn’t even supposed to _have_ favorites, but she always gave me a hug before she went home for the day, she...I couldn’t...by the time I got to her, it was too late.”

 

    He took a shuddering breath, momentarily lost to the gripping talons of a horrible memory. Alexander fidgeted, folding his hands in his lap, and then unfolding them and making as though to pat Magnus’ back, before thinking better of it. How exactly was he supposed to react to this information? _Sorry_ seemed like a shallow, superficial thing to say in response to the things Magnus had been through. Magnus took a moment to collect himself, though when he spoke again, his voice was still unsteady with the pain of revisiting that day.

 

    “I swore that I would fix it for them. For her. That I would find a way to make it right. I came to Norway about two years ago, looking for answers. Why this happened, how to fix it, why I hadn’t...why it hadn’t been me instead.”

 

    They were both silent for a long, long moment, watching as Kristján loosed arrow after arrow from his bow. Alexander cleared his throat when Kris reached into his quiver to find that he had shot the last one, turning to face Magnus instead. “Did you find them? Your answers?”

 

    “Yes.” Magnus’ brilliant blue eyes went soft, some of the grief fading as he gazed out to where Sindre and Kristján were pulling arrows from where they had gotten lodged in the bag. “Not the answer I came here looking for, but the answer I needed.”

 

    Their contemplative reverie was broken by a cry from just behind the house, and Väinö came dashing around the corner, wearing his triumph like a halo. “I found a boat,” he said breathlessly, flicking his hair away from his forehead. “We can leave for Iceland within the week.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! This was pretty much just a filler chapter, sorry about how short it is! Only three more chapters left after this one. I’m graduating soon, so I should have plenty of time to finish this story up before I leave for Europe in June. Hoping you’re all well.
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	5. Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew sets sail for Iceland, and meets an adversary on the way.

“This is the ship you found?” Kristján asked, staring dumbfounded at the dinky little fishing boat bobbing at the end of the pier. Fading black paint spelled out the name _Sild_ on the side, and he wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m not getting on a ship called Herring. That’s cursed.”

 

“You have no idea,” Sindre muttered, eyeing the peeling white stern with consternation.

 

“Do you have a better idea?” Väinö challenged, gazing hawkishly down at them from his perch at the bow. “You said find a boat that could get us to Iceland. I found one.”

 

“I...don’t.” Reluctantly, the young teen climbed the gangplank, carelessly throwing his bags into the cabin. “But this is a bad idea. Iceland’s pretty far, and you know it wasn’t just land creatures that came out of that dumb rift.”

 

“That’s why we have these!” Magnus tossed a bundle of steel-tipped harpoons up onto the deck, hopping over the low side wall and gazing out onto the open ocean with a wild sort of flicker in his eye. “Iceland won’t know what hit it.”

 

“Don’t speak too soon,” chided a lilting voice from the bow. Sindre peered around the cabin, winding a thick length of rope around his hands and hanging it up where it would not get flung into the hungry sea. “You know better than to tempt the gods.”

 

“Tempting the gods?” Laughed the Dane, tugging hard at the rope that kept them momentarily moored to the dock. “Never. I ask only their favor.”

 

“We’ll need it,” Alexander muttered, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he surveyed the inside of the musty cabin. “‘S not exactly ideal, but we can make do. Anchors away?” Behind him, there was a soft, anticipatory murmur of assent.

 

Magnus pulled the rope loose from the dock, effectively freeing them from the safety of the walls. “Anchors away,” he confirmed, coiling the salt-crusted rope into his hands. “Next stop, Iceland.”

 

Most of the trip passed uneventfully, and it was making Sindre nervous. There had been only one mild storm (they had been blown but a mile off course - nothing in the grand scheme of their journey,) they had not met any Helvíti, and the boat had held together nicely, save for a tiny leak right above Alexander’s bed. (Väinö had offered to share his bunk, and even after Alexander had mended the leak, they had not switched back. Sindre was not at all surprised.)

 

This all seemed _far_ too easy. He had studied the old gods, and Hel was not one to make life simple for those who dared to challenge her. She was a proud goddess, a queen, and she did not appreciate being interrupted or dishonored, and this _definitely_ counted as an interruption. Upon bringing his concerns up to Magnus a week or so into his voyage, he was met with a thoughtful tilt of a blond head, and a contemplative hum.

 

“I don’t know, babe, Hel’s a busy lady. If we’re lucky, she won’t even notice us. Don’t worry so much, we’ll all be okay.” Despite his reassuring words, the Dane was troubled by how Sindre refused to meet his eyes.

 

“With me spitting off magic like a homing beacon? She’ll notice,” Sindre muttered darkly, wrapping his arms around his own middle and swaying with the rhythm of the boat as they skimmed over the tops of waves. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, agitated and uncomfortable. Something was wrong, he could feel it -  dark, sticky energy was clotting in his head like tar, making his whole world fuzzy and muted. “I think--”

 

Before he could finish, the boat jolted as though they had slammed into a sandbar, sending them into a tailspin in the open water. When they finally came to a halt, the ocean around them began to churn violently.

 

“What the hell was that?” Väinö gasped, gripping the side of the little ship for dear life. Alexander shook his head helplessly, only able to shrug in response, while Sindre’s expression went grim.

 

“She found us,” he murmured.

 

The deep water below them boiled, and Magnus went still for a moment, listening solemnly to the ominous gurgling resounding from the depths. “To arms!” he called, shouldering his shotgun and aiming it over the starboard side, into the wild sea. Alexander stood at the port side, Kristján nocking an arrow next to him. Sindre hurried to the front of the ship while Väinö took the back, loading his rifle. Both of them were sparking live-wire with magic.

 

As suddenly as the ocean had become agitated, it went still and glassy. Hesitantly, Kristján made to lower his bow, but Magnus shook his head firmly. “Hold! Don’t lower your weapons,” he commanded, finger still resting on the trigger.

 

As soon as Magnus had given his order, a massive, bloated creature breached the surface just meters away from their ship, sending them spinning and bobbing on a tidal wave of water. It looked like it might have been a whale once - there were still striations on what was left of its pale belly, and its ragged fluke reminded Sindre of the humpbacks he had watched feeding in the fjords as a child.

 

Magnus took aim at its great, unseeing eye, firing a volley of pellets and hissing between his teeth when the thing sank back beneath the waves, seemingly unharmed. At the stern, Väinö’s whole body was glowing, eyes closed and lips parted in a soundless prayer to calm the seas. He swung his rifle low, firing at the torn, fleshy back when it broke the surface again. It took all of Alexander’s concentration to tear his gaze away from the awe-inspiring sight.

 

“Port side!” Sindre yelled, a ball of what looked to be blue fire held between his palms. Kristján drew his arrow back to his cheek, letting it fly with a soft snap. The thin birch shaft whistled as it arced through the air before landing with a satisfying _thump_ , effectively pinning one rotting pectoral fin to the great beast’s side.

 

As the thing thrashed and twisted in a vain attempt to free its flipper, Sindre let go of the energy he was holding. For a moment, all that was visible of the creature were its horrible dead eyes - the rest was consumed in a blazing halo of light. As it faded out, the fluke and unpinned fin separated from their host, where they floated as pale, grotesque rafts in the dark water.

 

Unfortunately, this did nothing to make the monster less angry. With surprising agility given its partial dismemberment, it reared its torn body from the water with a low moan, revealing too many teeth where baleen should have been.

 

“Move the boat, move the boat, _move the boat_!” Kristján screamed, staring up at the great, hulking form threatening to crush them and fumbling desperately for his final arrow.

 

Sindre and Väinö were both shaking with the sheer power humming like electricity through their veins. Magnus and Kristján were taking aim again, but Alexander saw none of it. Blindly, he groped for the harpoons they had rested against the side of the cabin, fingers closing around a polished wooden shaft. _This is life or death,_ he told himself, bringing the harpoon up to be level with the beast’s head, _so don’t miss_.

 

 _Now_. With all his strength, Alexander flung the harpoon straight into the whale’s blowhole, where it stuck fast, sending a spray of sour, clotted blood raining down onto them. Time seemed to freeze, and for a moment, he wondered if they were well and truly doomed.

 

The monster gave a horrible, resounding shriek as it crashed backwards into the water, and Alexander clamped his hands over his ears immediately. A shudder rippled down the length of the great, heaving body, and all at once, the whole thing dissolved into swirling currents of white ash below them. The ocean was still once more - the only sounds where their laborious breathing, and the soft breeze trembling over the water.

 

“What the hell was that?” Kristján gasped, wiping a smear of viscera from his cheek. His hands were trembling as he lowered his bow and sank back against the wall of the cabin, eyes blown wide with shock and horror.

 

“A warning,” Väinö said, lips pressed in a pale, grim line as the fog cleared to reveal a dark, jagged coastline. “We’re here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s nothing left in my mind today. Buh. Enjoy this chapter! Next one will be up tomorrow. 
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	6. Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something dark is out there, but the team journeys on.

The Icelandic coastline was as barren and ominous as the photos Kristján had seen in the news had portrayed. Dark sand was scattered with the crystal bones of glaciers and the shredded bodies of what looked to have once been a herd of horses, now bloated with the gases of decay. Just looking made him sick to his stomach.

 

Beyond the beach was a little town, resting in the foreboding shadow of a hulking glacier. The buildings were long abandoned, slowly overtaken by the creeping sand. Wooden sidings had rotted away in the damp, salty breeze, and any metal had crumbled away into piles of red rust. The whole place gave of a haunting air of despair.

 

“Do we have to beach here?” He asked, swallowing past the anxiety constricting his throat. Alexander nodded bleakly, not even bothering to look up from the map he was studying, but gesturing the younger boy over to his side anyway.

 

“Yes, come here, crisis child. Look here - this town is Vík, or at least it used to be. We’ll go straight north, and we’ll run into the rift in a day or two, if we walk quickly,” he pointed out, running his finger along a path outlined in blue ink. “We’ll follow this path, it’ll intersect at the Hofsjökull.”

 

“Crisis child? Rude,” Kristján huffed, hovering over the smirking Swede’s shoulder and swatting his ear as he examined the path he had drawn.

 

“That’s what “kris” means in Swedish. I think it’s suiting, don’t you?”

 

Kristján could only snort indignantly, crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose in disapproval. “Hm. So that’s where the rift is?” Alexander nodded silently, and the younger boy reached out to trace one slender finger over the jagged line that ran straight through the ancient glacier. “It’s gotten bigger,” he noted. The line was traced in several shades of red pen as they had added to it over the years. When it had opened, it had barely run East-West across the Hofsjökull. Now, two years later, it nearly bisected the little island.

 

“Hofsjökull. Temple glacier,”  Kris translated, pressing his lips together, “Hel’s temple.”

 

Before Alexander could even think about the ominous implications of such a name, there was a loud splash off to their left - the sound of an anchor drop. Magnus straightened up and dusted his hands off, making sure that the rope securing their boat to the heavy slab of iron was securely tied.

 

“Ready to go?” He asked. His voice was as bright as ever, but the smile on his lips was wan and forced. Alexander stood, rolling up the map and tucking it away in his bag and responding with a curt nod.

 

“Now or never,” the Swede muttered, shouldering his pack and peering over the side of the little ship.

 

Sindre and Väinö were waiting in the rowboat below them, gripping the end of a heavy, fraying rope to keep from drifting off with the current. A small pile of supplies was settled between them, and Alexander took care not to land on it when he hopped down into the boat, sending it bobbing precariously in the waves. Magnus and Kristján followed, settling into the stern to balance the rickety rowboat in the water. With a final, silent glance to the _Sild_ , the crew heaved the oars through the water, gliding to the shore.

 

The bottom of the rowboat scraped earth moments later, and Väinö broke the stifling silence with a huff as he hopped out onto the damp sand. He paid no mind to the waves lapping at his tall boots as he straightened his cloak, enjoying the feeling of solid land beneath his feet for the first time in two weeks.

 

“That,” he proclaimed, gazing out to the _Sild_ distastefully, “was awful.”

 

“Told you we should have gotten a bigger boat,” Kristján mumbled under his breath, helping Magnus and Alexander push the rowboat far up onto dry land so that it wouldn’t be swept away by the incoming tide. Sindre was standing at the edge of the water, swaying in the whipping wind. His were closed tight, and his face was positively green with discomfort.

 

“Everything okay, Sindre?” Väinö called, and the Norwegian’s eyes popped open, glowing brilliantly for a moment before fading out. He hesitated, before shaking his head no.

 

“We should leave,” he said quietly, and Magnus’ head whipped up from where he had been gathering supplies from the boat.

 

“Leave? But we just got here! Come on, babe, we’re so close, we can’t give up now.” A steady hand nestled itself between Sindre’s shoulder blades, and the shorter blond steadied himself a little, lifting his gaze to look at Magnus. For the first time in the duration of their journey, there was the ghostly flicker of fright in his eyes.

 

“I can feel it,” he murmured, reaching out to clasp Magnus’ free hand tight in his own, “I can feel _her_. It’s like...like a black hole.”

 

Sindre had once loved black holes, had loved mystery of the void. He had never seen them as malicious - they were just products of physics, like everything else in the world. They were thoughtless, silent ghost that could not help their massive power and irresistible call. But this? This was dark, dangerous, unholy. It called to him across the frozen tundra, howling and swirling beneath the earth. The energy it exuded in thick, heavy waves was utterly primal, even ancient. He wasn’t quite sure what to call it other than _powerful_.

 

“It’s going to be okay,” Magnus assured him, bringing his partner’s hand to his lips and pressing a devoted kiss to the back of his palm, “I won’t let her touch you. We’ll fix this.”

 

“Are you two saps ready to go?” Kristján yelled across the beach, and they jolted apart as though struck by lightning.

 

“Yes,” Sindre sighed, casting a final glance out to sea, out to the safety of home. “Yes, we are ready.”

 

To Alexander’s surprise, the first day of their journey was utterly uneventful. Aside from a small horde of Helvíti that they had quite easily dispatched from the mortal coil with a few bullets and one flash of brilliant energy on Sindre’s part, nothing had bothered them, living or dead. Iceland had been rendered utterly barren.

 

Occasionally, they passed the empty remains of a town, weathered to ghostly ruins by the wind and rain. More often, they would see the skeletal remains of flocks of sheep, herds of horses, or even people who had sought to escape to higher ground and had instead run straight into the waiting arms of death herself. Magnus did his best not to look at them.

 

“Any estimates for how far away we are?” Magnus sighed after the third day of tramping through dead heather fields and the winding remains of old highways. It had been a boring morning, and they had decided to stop for lunch in the remains of an old barn. While the roof was pockmarked with holes, and one of the walls was sagging dangerously, it kept the worst of the sweeping wind off of them. Väinö shook his head in response, brows furrowed as he spread the map out onto the packed earthen floor and skimmed the paper with the tip of one finger.

 

“Can’t see shit,” he huffed, lips twisting into a frown. “Sindre, shed a little light on the situation?”

 

Without looking up from the bread he was chewing, Sindre extended his open hand to his friend, pursing his lips. After a moment of concentration, he conjured a bright flame into the palm of his hand, casting a soft golden light over their little section of the barn.

 

“Thank you,” the Finn sighed, lifting the map up to examine it in new light. Sindre only grunted in response.

“I think we’ve got about a half day left, if we walk a little bit past sundown. We’ll be at the rift by the time the first stars show up,” he offered, and Magnus nodded, getting to his feet immediately and stuffing the last of his lunch into his mouth.

 

“Perfect,” he crowed around a mouthful of rye bread, “then let’s get going! We haven’t got time to waste.”

 

    With a collective grumble, his companions dragged themselves to their feet and trudged after him. Before them, the rift stretched wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! I’ll be wrapping this story up soon, taking a short break, and then moving on to the next work in the series. Enjoy!
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


	7. Sacrifice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hel makes her debut. The rift is closed, but at a price.

“So this is it,” Kristján murmured, gazing out over the yawning chasm that split the nation of Iceland in two. “This is the cause of all of my problems.”

 

The canyon was surprisingly ordinary-looking. Kris had imagined a great, fiery split in the earth, howling with the screams of the damned and oozing molten rock and tar. Instead, he was faced with what looked to be a glacial rift, crusted with ice and stone and echoing with the sounds of their voices. The only thing that struck him as even slightly unusual was that he could not see the bottom, no matter how hard he squinted and peered.

 

“Not all of your problems,” Sindre provided, resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I’m still the source of some of them, I hope.”

 

“Fair,” the boy admitted, shrugging his hand off and peering over the edge with a frown. “There’s no bottom.” Anxiously, Väinö grabbed the collar of his jacket and tugged him back, away from the slick, icy rim of the rift.

 

“Careful!” he hissed. “Can’t you feel it? There’s no bottom because it’s a portal. Jumping in there would send you straight to Helheim.”

 

“I don’t feel anything,” Kristján admitted sheepishly, and Magnus nodded in agreement, scratching the back of his neck skeptically.

 

“Just looks like a canyon to me. Are you sure this is the right place?” He asked. His mouth was twisted in uncertainty, and he rested a hand on his hip, glancing to Sindre as though he held all of the answers to some impossible question.

 

The Norwegian’s expression was cool and unreadable as he gazed down into it, fists clenched tightly into the hem of his tunic as if it would catch him if he fell. His eyes seemed to look beyond the darkness, into something that lay beyond. “I could not be more certain. One, I feel it too. Two, there aren’t many vast, chasmic rifts that bisect entire countries. This is the one we’re looking for.”

 

“Great! Good. We’re in the right place.” Magnus paused for a long moment, gazing into the ominous darkness with a thoughtful half-frown. “So what’s the plan?”

 

“What’s the plan? What do you mean “ _ what’s the plan _ ?” Kristján hissed, expression stiff with dawning horror. The Dane seemed utterly unbothered by his distress, shrugging his broad shoulders in a gesture of comfortable indifference.

 

“How hard can it be? We get here, we call upon Hel, and see what we need to do to close the rift. It’s not a lot, Kris.”

 

“And how exactly were we planning on summoning Hel? She’s an all-powerful goddess, you can’t exactly text her! “Oh hey Hel, we’re outside, want to come have a chat?” The teenager wrinkled his nose in distaste, eyes narrowing as he kicked a chunk of ice into the chasm. “Pointless. We came all this way for--”

 

The earth rumbled violently beneath them, and Alexander pulled Kristján back just as the lip of the chasm crumbled into dust. The darkness at the bottom shivered, and it suddenly became clear that it was not lack of light - it was mist, thick and oily, concealing the entrance to the realm below. 

 

One great, skeletal hand clutched the edge of the rift, followed by another cloaked in flesh. It took all of Kristján’s willpower to stand his ground and not turn tail and run. He could hear shrieking now, as the yawning void spun and spit, and he retched at the sound alone.  _ Too much, too much. _

 

With a final heave, a woman pulled herself out of the mist, and straightened, standing proud and still on the precipice of the rift. She was beautiful and terrible all at once, cloaked in a shifting, swirling gown of mist. Half of her body was skeletal, bones gleaming bright-white like carved ice. The other half was cloaked in grey flesh, stretched taut over atrophied muscles. Dark hair, like dripping tar, hung in her face, and in the space where her eyes should have been were two black voids, swirling with the same darkness that had rested in the bottom of the chasm. Everything about her radiated primeval power.

 

“Who dares disturb my sleep?” She hissed, and Alexander winced at the sound of her voice. It didn’t even seem to come from the woman - it echoed all around them, from the dead grass, the darkening sky, the chasm itself. It was as though ten people were speaking at once, and all of them had smoked a pack a day for the past thousand years.

 

“Us.” It was Väinö who spoke out first, bold and steady as ever. He stepped forward to face the goddess, his stance open and fearless. “We have come to ask your help, Hidden One.”

 

_ At least  _ someone _ knows how to address a goddess, _ Sindre thought grimly, shifting his stance to hide his little brother behind him. Magnus’ hand was worrying the handle of the knife at his waist, and subtly, Sindre swatted his wrist. Knives were no use against the kind of power they were facing now.

 

“So this is the delegation Midgard sends. You are not one of mine...child of the forest.” She surveyed the Finn with a strange sort of fierceness. If Väinö didn’t know better, he would have claimed that he saw begrudging acceptance in her wan face. “Wise choice, bringing one that I cannot touch. Perhaps you are not as pathetic as I thought you would be. You  _ did _ survive everything I threw at you so far. What do you seek, mortals?”

 

She surveyed them sharply from beneath her hair, challenging them to gather the courage to speak to her again. Alexander cleared his throat, unsure if he should bow, or kneel, or lay some offering at her skeletal feet. He decided against any of it, choosing instead to speak honestly.

 

“With all due respect, Lady Hel, we have come with a...humble request,” he attempted, keeping his shoulders squared and his chin up despite the fact that he felt that his very heart was turning to ice in his chest. “This rift between your world and ours is destroying us - it’s been getting worse and worse, and we...we aren’t sure how much longer we’ll last. We ask that you close it. Please,” he added, for good measure.

 

There was a tense moment of silence as the goddess considered them, thin lips drawn into what might have been a thoughtful expression if she hadn’t been missing half of the flesh on her face. 

 

“The dead I collect are my due,” she stated, spreading her arms to gesture to the great tear in the ground behind her, “but I have seen many enter my halls before their time. It is... _ unfair _ , I suppose. You have impressed me with your courage. I will be fair.” Impossibly dark eyes narrowed to slits, and her mouth curved up in an unmistakable sickle-smirk, sharp and menacing. “I will close your rift...for a price.”

 

“Great, a price, what do you want?” Magnus’ shoulders were still tense, but there was a glint of hope shining in his eyes, flame-bright and cheerful. “Worship, gold, sagas in your name?”

 

Hel laughed, but it sounded more like the crackle of a forest fire than anything joyful and full of good humor. “Foolish mortal. I am queen of the land Below and North, I have no need of gold and jewels. No, I seek no trivial thing. I seek my due.” She turned her gaze to them, stepping forward with surprising grace and pointing with one long, bony finger. “You. Child of light, chosen of Baldr.”

 

Sindre closed his eyes against her dark gaze and stepped forward, ignoring his brother’s sharp intake of breath. His head was held high, and his stance betrayed none of the despair that pierced his chest as though she had stabbed him with her words. “Lady Hel.”

 

“I take no sacrifice unwillingly given. Do you give yourself for your people?”

 

Magnus gave a shout, lunging forward and reaching for Sindre. Väinö caught his arm, pulling him back and hissing a warning into his ear.  _ Do not interrupt a goddess. _ Sindre did not move, did not flinch. He was positively statuesque, calm in the face of death herself.

 

“Yes.”

 

“No!” Kristján sobbed, ignoring Väinö’s warning to stay put. He darted out from behind Alexander to catch his older brother’s slender wrist in his own, tugging him back to face him. Tears danced hot and bright in his eyes, and his breath was laborious, rough, panicked. “Sindre, Sindre please, you can’t do this. We can find another way, we can-- don’t do this!”

 

Gently, so very gently, Sindre wrenched his hand away, cupping his younger brother’s cheek in his palm and skimming the pad of his thumb under his eyes to catch the tears that fell.

 

“Fair is fair, little one. One life, for all of humanity? We will not find a better bargain.” Tenderly, he pressed a kiss to his forehead, and drew away from him. “Be good. Behave for Magnus. It will all be okay.”

 

The Norwegian turned from Hel to face his teammates, pressing his lips together to steel himself against the shock and horror in their gazes. He  _ would _ do this. One life, for millions. They would be okay without him.

 

“Forget me. Go live your lives,” he commanded, sealing his final words with a resolute nod. With a sweeping glance back to his stunned companions, Sindre gathered his courage and strode over to the edge of the rift to join Hel. A few brief words were exchanged between them, and together, they stepped into the breach, disappearing into the stifling darkness.

 

The ground shook violently, rocked by some great hand, and the remaing four stumbled, gripping to each other tightly to avoid falling to the trembling dirt. As if a great zipper had been drawn across the land, the earth drew itself back together, knitting into solid ground. A great shriek pierced the air, reverberating through the rocks, and then--

 

Stillness. Where the rift had been, a massive, jagged scar of barren earth tore across the Icelandic countryside. Kristján had collapsed onto Alexander, eyes wide and blank with shock. He was stiff and still, made of icy tension and disbelief, and Alexander simply draped his arm around his shoulders and pet his hair until he was breathing normally again. 

 

“He knew,” Kristján whispered hollowly. “He knew this was going to happen, and he came here anyway.”

 

Magnus swayed like a willow, coming unglued from where he had been stuck to the ground courtesy of Väinö. A great, heaving gasp tore his throat raw, and he threw his head back and keened to the stars, clear and furious. “No. No!” Unable to bear the weight of his grief, he fell to his knees, choked with fury and the wildness of fresh loss. “Fuck the rift, fuck the gods, fuck fate, fuck them all! Gods above, you’re all fucking assholes!”  _ Again _ . Yet again, he had lost what was dearest to him, to some random, cruel act of the gods. Sindre was gone, and so was his faith in any greater, guiding benevolence. Why hadn’t Baldr intervened? Why hadn’t the gods themselves bothered to close the rift before? He beat at the dirt with his fist, staining it dark with his tears as he shook and shook, momentarily consumed by anger and loss.

 

The sound of someone else’s voice brought him back down, and he lifted his head from where he had bowed it, taking deep, ragged breaths to call his frantic mind back to his body. Someone was holding his arm in a firm and steadying grasp.

 

“Magnus.  _ Magnus _ !” Väinö was gripping his bicep, fierce determination shining in his eyes as he pulled the Dane to his feet. “Get a grip. We’re going to get him back. Whatever it takes.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay sorry about ending on a downer chapter! 
> 
> This is NOT the end of the series, Sindre, or the story, I promise. The next installation will be called I’ll Follow You Into The Dark and should be posted after my short break - I’m graduating soon so life is a party right now, and I’m enjoying it! Not to worry though, I’m planning to write a one-shot during my little break to explore Väinö and Alexander’s relationship. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this little fic, and I’ll see you in the next one!
> 
> xx.
> 
> Liv


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